Shock and Awe: Sharp's story
by skyrimnut1994
Summary: Sergeant Jason Sharp and nine other members of the SAS are searching safehouses for Horsemen One and Two, just a few kilometres away from the city of Al-Asad. With the US invasion due in a matter of hours, is the city really hiding Makarov and Al-Asad, or is it something far more sinister?
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! Started a new series today, written some of it already but I will try and keep you posted at least once a week, maybe twice, depending on how I can keep pace. Enjoy!

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_Bzzzt_. _Bzzzt_. The phone vibrated angrily against the wooden night stand, the screen lighting up. Jason groaned and rolled onto his side in his bed, facing his phone. He picked it up, squinting at the screen, trying not to blind himself and so he could focus on the caller ID. He swung his legs out of bed and sat up, slowly opening his eyes. Behind him, on the bed, he could feel movement.

"Who is it, baby?" Melanie, Jason's girlfriend, murmured, still half-asleep.

Finally Jason's eyes managed to focus on the screen and his stomach dropped slightly. The number was unknown, which meant it was either a cold-caller who failed to grasp the concept of sleep, or it was Whitehall and things never went well when they called him direct.

"Nothing Mel, just go back to sleep. I'll be done in a minute."

Jason unplugged the phone from the wall charger and got up from the bed. When he had left the bedroom, he accepted the call.

"Jason Sharp."

"Good morning Sharp."

Jason's stomach dropped even more. The dull Scottish tone of Colonel MacMillan reverberated through Jason's left ear.

"Good… is it really morning, sir?"

"Aye, lad, judging by my watch, it's three minutes past four. You're needed in Whitehall. A black Jaguar will be outside your house momentarily. The driver will know where to take you. I'll see you in half an hour. And dress smart. I assume that you lot at Hereford are still trying to compete in who can go the longest without washing or changing."

"I used to sir, but Melanie banned me from sleeping in the same bed as her."

"Speaking of which, Sharp. No need to tell her anything about this op. Say it's a training exercise."

With that he hung up and Jason went back into the bedroom. He showered and changed into a pair of chinos and a dark green polo shirt bearing the crest of the Royal Marines, Sharp's old unit.

When he was ready, he went over to Melanie, who was still sleeping and kissed her cheek.

"I'm just going up for a briefing. I'll be back by lunchtime."

"See you then," she said, eyes still closed.

Jason went downstairs just as he heard a car pulling up. He stuffed a water bottle and a packet of crisps into a backpack along with a notepad and opened the door.

The black Jag was waiting for him, the burly driver holding the door open for him.

"Never got this treatment before," Sharp commented as he got in.

"Never been a mission like this before," the driver replied, slamming the door shut.

The journey to Whitehall seemed to take no time at all in the back of the Jag. The V8 ate up the miles readily and the leather seats seemed too inviting for a quick nap, especially after being woken so early. Sharp woke up again just as the car stopped, outside one of the many Victorian buildings in Whitehall. The car door was once again opened for Sharp and he got out. It was only six o'clock but already the sun was up. The driver beckoned Sharp forward.

"This way," he said, "I have strict orders to deliver you personally to the office." They walked through the door, dumping bags on the x-ray machine and being subjected to metal detectors. Once they were through, the driver strode purposefully forward, turning left and right as if he memorised the entire layout of this building. Sharp was barely breaking into a run just to keep pace with the guy.

Eventually they reached the office. The driver stopped, checked Sharp was still with him and knocked twice on the door. It opened and the driver stepped back and let Sharp through.


	2. Chapter 2

The room seemed contradictory itself. The wooden walls were decorated with various TV screens, broadcasting real-time footage from various flashpoints around the world. Tables made of oak and mahogany no longer held stacks of books – instead, people in suits and military uniforms sat round them with laptops and phones constantly going.

"Ah, Sharp! Good to see you finally made it!"

Sharp looked up to where the voice had come from. He saw, standing at the far end of the room facing a huge computer screen, was Colonel MacMillan. MacMillan started to walk over to Sharp, his walking stick adding a third ring which was out of time with his feet. As MacMillan reached Sharp, Sharp braced up but MacMillan quickly waved him down.

"No need to stand on ceremony boy," MacMillan said, offering his hand. Sharp took it.

"How's the leg, sir?"

"Still got a shit-ton of metal in it, but it's better than losing it, isn't it? Come on, there are some people that I want you to meet. This way."

MacMillan led Sharp past people who were poring over pages of documents. He knew that these people could be the only people in the entire world who were allowed to see what these documents said.

Eventually they reached a table surrounded by various high-ranking officers, but one stood out to Sharp more than the others. He was tall and dressed in US Army ACU camouflage, almost everyone else round the table was dressed in a suit. Even MacMillan was wearing a shirt and tie. MacMillan went round the table, introducing the spooks and finishing with the uniformed officer.

"Sharp, this is Lieutenant General Shepherd, supreme commander of US Forces in the Middle East." Sharp nodded to him as he had done to everyone else round the table but this wasn't enough for the General. He grabbed Sharp's hand and enthusiastically pumped it up and down.

"Sergeant Sharp, it is an honour and a privilege!" He beamed, still refusing to let go of Sharp's hand for several seconds beyond comfortable.

"It's so good to see a real soldier here with these office marines." Hearing this, MacMillan coughed abruptly and muscled his way so that he was next to Sharp. He leant over and picked up a map.

"Do you know where this is, son?" MacMillan asked, pointing at a city.

"That's Ahvaz, Iran."

General Shepherd shook his head. "That _was _Ahvez, Iran. Since the province was taken over by Khaled Al-Asad, the fucker renamed the city. That is now Al-Asad."

"This city is the major target for US forces in the Middle East," MacMillan said, "we take this city, the revolution in the province dissipates and the US gets to choose a nice democratic yes-man as President." He looked over at Shepherd at this last statement. Shepherd looked right back at him.

"Thomas Perry is here from MI6 with your mission brief." MacMillan stepped back and a young man in a navy blue suit stood opposite Sharp. He rummaged through the mess of files on the table and pulled out a photo. He gave it to Sharp, who studied it.

"These four bastards are known as the Four Horsemen. From right to left, Viktor Zakhaev, the Third Horseman. Commander of Ultranationalist ground forces. Bit of a daddy's boy. Problem is, his daddy's the Fourth Horseman. Imran Zakhaev. Former arms dealer. I say former because General MacMillan did a number on him fifteen years ago. Isn't that right, General?"

"I'm never going to forget that in a hurry," MacMillan grunted, tapping the metal plate in his leg with a pen, making a clanging noise.

"Now, those two chaps are nice and all, but they're out of our jurisdiction. Viktor Zakhaev is holed up in Russia and, well, the dead don't do much in the way of arms dealing. It's these other two that are our main priority.

"Horseman number two is the next fella. Khaled Al-Asad. Killed the former President and took over, with a bunch of armed nasties backing him up. We have reason to believe that he is still near his city. CIA and MI6 are working together to come up with potential locations."

"How many do you have?" Shepherd interrupted.

"Last count, about ninety safehouses."

"Ninety?! Sweet Jesus man, we don't have time to knock on ninety doors!"

"We're narrowing it down, bear with us General." The young man's composure had been shaken up by the General's sudden attack and took a deep breath before continuing.

"Like I say, he's believed to be near the city. Now, the First Horseman is the one that really interests us, the chap on the far left."

Sharp looked down at the photo. Imran Zakhaev looked to be in quite an involved conversation with him. All Sharp could make out was that he had dark brown/black hair; the rest of his face was obscured by a red cross. He was wearing a grey ops waistcoat and a dark grey and black outfit. Sharp looked up.

"What's the deal? Why the permanent marker over the face?"

The Intelligence Officer looked down and adjusted his tie.

"The photo is old. Previous Intelligence Officers took one look at the photo and declared him a nobody, a foot soldier for the Horsemen. We now know that's rubbish. His name is Vladimir Makarov. He's a major player on the Ultranationalist front. The problem is, we don't know how major. From reports, him and Zakhaev senior went way back, some sort of student-mentor thing. We have multiple confirmations that Makarov has been sighted in the Al-Asad area. This means that, along with Khaled Al-Asad, that two-thirds of the surviving Horsemen are within 200 square miles of each other.

"Your mission is as follows. You are to patrol to predetermined locations, where you will perform reconnaissance on the area. You are looking for evidence pertaining to any of the Horsemen, though focussing on the two Horsemen. Deniability is the word of the millennium, chaps. No unnecessary contact and remain undetected."

Sharp finally spoke up.

"What if we have a clear shot on either Horseman?"

"The general order is no kill/capture. That said, the bigger picture may change when you are in the field so if you have a clear shot, contact Headquarters and we'll assess the situation."

The Intelligence Officer pointed at a man in a blue blazer and chinos.

"I'm sure you have met Lieutenant James Buckle before, both of you being Regiment and all that."

Lieutenant Buckle leant forward and shook Sharp's hand.

"Lieutenant Buckle will be patrol i/c. You are patrol 2 i/c. I'll let you two sort out the finer points of your mission. The First Horseman, Makarov, has callsign Hotel-1-0. The Second Horseman, Al-Asad, has callsign Hotel-2-0. Your patrol callsign is Alpha-0. Other callsigns will be delivered to you at a later date. Good luck gentlemen."

Sharp nodded again at the figures round the table, before MacMillan grabbed his arm and pulled him and Lieutenant Buckle away.

"You'd best get up to Hereford fellas. Sign out whatever kit you need. Anything you can't get from Hereford will be forwarded to your FOB out in the Middle East. The two of you can get together and choose your patrol from the roster. I'm afraid I'm staying in London so here is where I am going to have to leave you."

"Thank you sir." Both Sharp and Buckle shook MacMillan's hand and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hereford**

"Good morning Sergeant Sharp," the armourer waved Sharp over. Sharp went over to the armourer.

"How are you today, Colin?"

"Good, thanks, Jase. Now, a certain Lieutenant Buckle came by recently and drew out some weaponry. Recommended the same stuff to you."

"What did he take?"

"M4 rifle, M9 pistol, mags and rounds, NVGs, grenades, flashbangs, claymores, binos. The works. You starting the Third World War?"

"Come on Colin, you know that's classified."

"Eh, well, worth a try. So, what'll it be?"

"I'll take the lot, but M4 and three mags for now – I'll do some zeroing."

The armourer nodded and handed over the M4 and three full mags. Sharp signed off the weapon and went over to one of the empty lanes, passing Gaz on the way.

"Morning sir."

"Sharp, you know it's Gaz."

"Sorry, Gaz. So why are you in the range? You off on ops as well?"

"Not yet. We have an FNG coming in today. Want to put him through his paces. See how he holds up. He's been requisitioned by Captain Price already."

"God, the man won't last a minute!"

"I know! Now, you take care wherever you are going, Sharp."

"Cheers Gaz. You too."

When Sharp reached the lane, he put on his ear defence and checked the weapon was clear before loading a magazine and slipping a round into the chamber. He looked down the sight at the Figure-11 target forty metres away and squeezed the trigger. The round shot out and the rifle recoiled but Sharp managed to maintain his stance. He unfocussed from the sight and looked at the target.

_Hmm._ _Too far to the left_. He took out a combi-tool and wound the rear sight to the left and tried again.

Half an hour later he had decimated the target face, and returned his weapon to armourer, ready for when they left for the Middle East. As he left the range he walked passed a soldier he'd never seen before. The bloke had a Mohawk haircut and his face was pockmarked with various scars. He stared right back at Sharp, his face showing no emotion.

"Soap? Get a weapon from the armourer and take a position up in lane 1." Gaz's cockney accent rang out through the range and Sharp's ears picked up the FNG's name.

_The fuck kind of a name is Soap, _he thought as he left the range and headed to one of the warehouses. He slid the door open and walked through to the far end.

The grand space was largely empty, apart from a small space at the opposite end to where the door was which had a table, some chairs and a projector and screen. Already in the room was Lt. Buckle, now wearing Multicam trousers and a sand coloured t-shirt.

"Ah, Sharp!" Buckle looked up from his rummaging through the paperwork on the table and gestured to a chair at the front.

"I've put out a seat for you. I was literally just given the locations we will be patrolling towards and I heard you were on the ranges so I left you to it. All your personal kit ready for the off?"

Sharp nodded and took the map that Buckle had given him. It had four safehouses circled and a route between all four. Sharp frowned as he looked at the location of the second safehouse.

"Sir, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't this route take us through a large urban area?"

"Yes Jason, I'm afraid it does. We'll be passing through Al-Asad twenty-four hours before the US Marines invade there. Six want a report on the situ there so we have to observe and comment on movements. As well as recce a safehouse there."

At this point the warehouse door slide open again and six men walked in, all dressed in MultiCam. Sharp smiled when he saw them. Handpicked by him and Buckle, he could trust these men when the shit hit the fan, and judging by the route they had been given, a lot of shit would hit the fan.

"Morning gentlemen," Buckle's voice had changed from polite to stern when he addressed the men, "sit down and we'll begin. Corporal Wright, the lights."

Corporal John Wright stood up and flicked the switches off. The projector whirred into life.

"Now, I'm sure you lot have been looking at the photos we gave you, of the First and Second Horsemen so I won't go over them. The new information is about the patrol route. After spending hours locked in a battle with MI6, I have had to give in on some things."

The first slide came on the screen. It showed a birds-eye view of Al-Asad and the surrounding land.

"Number one, they want us to go through Al-Asad. Time and time again I refused, saying it's a death trap, especially with US Marines knocking on the door, but they wouldn't listen, so we will be performing a CTR on Al-Asad, looking particularly at any armour they have and leading OpFor officers in the area."

The second slide came on, showing aerial photographs of the four safe houses.

"Second, we are to sweep and clear each safe house that we come across, provided our HVTs aren't there. Again, I warned them of booby traps but they would rather have intelligence over soldiers."

The third slide showed a particularly nasty missile launcher. The photo must have been a stock one, as the background for the launchers was the Kremlin, in Russia.

"Thirdly, there is a detachment of 9K52 Luna-M missile launches just 10km outside the city. FROG-7 launchers, to give their other name, are unguided SRBMs and could do a lot of damage to any invading force. MI6 and CIA want us to go and render them useless. In simple terms, blow them up."

Sharp put his hand up. "Sir, do we have anything er…recent on the Frogs?"

Buckle shook his head. "The trucks literally drove up twenty minutes ago. A UAV saw them but couldn't get any decent shots."

"If they literally turned up a few minutes ago, how do we know they'll still be there when we turn up?" The voice came from the back of the group. Sharp craned his head. He'd recognize that Scottish accent anywhere – Malcolm Stewart leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and waited for the answer.

"We don't," Buckle said, "but the American invasion will be taking place soon so we can expect them to stay.

"If that's everything, gentlemen, then we'll conclude here and I'll see you all outside the warehouse at 0430 in two days' time."


	4. Chapter 4

At 0900 the Hercules C-130 plane touched down at the main NATO base, just 90km away from Al-Asad. The patrol got off the plane and went straight into another warehouse, where they got out sleeping bags and prepared bedspaces. In the meantime Buckle went to speak to the MI6 Intelligence Officer who would be their rendezvous.

"Hey, Sharp," Malcolm leaned in to Sharp as they were preparing bedspaces, "I don't like this. Destroy a convoy of Frogs? Clear out dangerous safehouses? Fight through an entire city? Mate, why did you pick me? Why not Gaz? I could have got his gig? Cushy job in Europe…"

"Stewart, I picked you because you're the best shot in the Regiment," Sharp said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "as much as I like Gaz, I'd rather have you in a firefight."

"Aye, well, let's get this over with."

They returned to their business just as Buckle returned, along with Thomas Perry, who had changed into desert DPM fatigues. Buckle looked as if e was trying not to laugh – Perry was the only person wearing DPM, the rest were wearing MultiCam, not that this bothered Perry.

"Morning chaps!" He shouted, causing several of the soldiers to wince – a five hour flight into a totally different timezone had disoriented some of them and they weren't as eager as Perry was.

"In eighteen hours time you will be leaving for the first safehouse. There have not been any movements seen coming out of the house for several days so we assume that the place has been abandoned. Nevertheless, you will still break in and send us any good stuff. Good luck to you – I'll be buying you the first round when you're back in Blighty!"

With that he nodded at the lieutenant and left. Buckle looked at Sharp and shrugged. Sharp shook his head.

"Bloody spook," he muttered, "he has no idea what we're going to face."

"None of us do," Malcolm said, "now shut up, I want my beauty sleep."

"You think eighteen hours will be enough?"

"Fuck you, man."

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Sorry for the short length - I am now at College and so have to compete with studying as well as typing - I still have enough stuff ready for the next couple of weeks but it may slow down after that! I'm also looking at doing a story based on Fallout: New Vegas. Let me know if you would be interested in reading that!


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys! I felt bad for uploading such a short chapter that I have decided to give you a bumper chapter! Look out for the next installment this time next week! Remember to review, follow, favourite etc!

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The patrol left at 0300 hours, with Corporal Wright as pointman and Lieutenant Buckle behind him. Sharp was seventh in the order, in charge of the five guys at the rear during a firefight, when Buckle would take command of the front five. The patrol left the base and were met with a huge expanse of scrubland. They immediately established themselves in arrowhead formation and moved forward very slowly, weapons constantly in the shoulder, looking through NV goggles.

Sharp loved the night-time patrol. It was tense, seeing as your vision was limited to whatever showed up in your monocle, bathed in a green glow but it was also very relaxing, being alone with your thoughts.

He was constantly scanning around him, looking around from one guy to the next. He also checked the ground, making sure that there were no trip lines that could set off flares or explosives. The ground was flat for as far as the eye could see. Sharp could even make out Al-Asad in the background. It showed up as a light green glow in his monocle, compared to the dark green around it.

Something closer to him caught his eye. He looked over to where John Wright was. He had put up his left hand in a closed fist. _Stop_. Instinctively Sharp took a knee and motioned to the soldiers behind him to do the same. He looked up at Wright again and saw him double over to Buckle. He took a knee near Buckle and started pointing at something ahead of them.

"Alpha-0-7, this is Alpha-0-2, come in over."

Alpha-0-2. Lieutenant Buckle was talking to him.

"Go ahead, Alpha-0-2."

"Alpha-0-1 has spotted something up ahead. At least one vehicle, engine switched off. He can hear talking, not Arabic. I want the whole patrol to crawl up another thirty metres, see if we can get a better idea of how many vehicles there are. Out."

"Copy that. Moving now."

Sharp turned behind him and moved his hand, palm down, towards the ground. _Get on your belt buckles._ He then got onto his own belt buckle and started crawling up, making sure he kept a good pace with the rest of the patrol. Once they had crawled forward thirty metres, Wright put his hand up again and the patrol stopped.

"Alpha-0-7, this is Alpha-0-2, come in, over." Buckle again.

"Go ahead, Alpha-0-2."

"There's just one vehicle up ahead. Two people, looking out away from us. I want you and Alpha-0-8 to neutralise them. Search the bodies for intel, you know the sort of thing. Keep it quiet! Out."

Sharp looked over at Alpha-0-8 to see if he heard what we were to do. Sharp looked through his NV goggles and saw a change in the shade of green around his head. Whether he nodded or not was a different matter but Sharp took it as a signal and motioned for him to get up. They stayed in single file of each other as they walked quickly to where the jeep was. They stayed low so as to remain undetected and weapons were kept high in the shoulder, one eye down the scope, the other looking through the NV goggles.

Sharp and Alpha-0-8 reached the jeep without a problem and crouched down beside it. The two men were the other side of it. Sharp and Alpha-0-8 listen intently to the conversation, but it wasn't English. Sharp looked at his partner.

_'English_?' He mouthed.

Alpha-0-8 shook his head.

_'Arabic_?' Again, he shook his head and listened for a bit longer. Finally he mouthed a word back.

'_Russian_.'

Sharp's stomach dropped. Russians? Out here? They had enough problems at home, not a few thousand miles away. Sharp stood up slightly and peered through the windows of the jeep. It was empty. He looked through the windows to their two targets on the other side. They stood a few metres away from the jeep, trying to use a pack of cigarettes as fast as they could. Sharp crouched down again and relayed this information to Alpha-0-8. They then took off their weapons, got down on belt buckles and crawled underneath the jeep.

_Thank fuck for the high clearance_, Sharp thought, as he felt his smock brush against the chassis above him, but it made little noise. When they had made it all the way under the jeep they got up and stood behind the men. They were standing side by side so didn't see Sharp and Alpha-0-8 at all. Sharp's right hand reached down to his thigh and he slid his Blackhawk Tatang knife out of its sheath. The reinforced ballistic nylon sheath made very little noise as the knife was drawn, a feature that Sharp was grateful for. He held his Tatang at the rear of its handle and swung it from high, straight into his target's neck. As he lodged the knife solidly in his neck blood exploded out from either side of the blade. Sharp kept pressure on the blade and kept going until he felt the serrated blade reach bone. The man gurgled and barely had time to get a hand up to his neck before he expired. Sharp lowered him to the ground and pulled his knife out as Alpha-0-8 next to Sharp did the same. Once his target was on the ground Sharp started looking over his kit.

"Hey, these don't match the photos we have of OpFor fatigues," Sharp said. The man was wearing digital camouflage and a three-hole balaclava. The intel Sharp had on OpFor was olive green fatigues and ballistic helmets. Alpha-0-8 spoke up after he had cased his guy.

"Dude, check the waistcoat. This has to be what, Russian?"

Sharp rolled his guy over and had a look. The quality was certainly better than expected and was packed with high-tech equipment; brand new magazines, a night vision monocle and half-decent rations.

"Alpha-0-2 this is Alpha-0-7 come in, over."

"Alpha-0-7 this is Alpha-0-2, go ahead, over."

"Sir, you need to see this. Out."

Sharp looked over to the patrol and saw eight figures get up and move towards him. When they arrived Buckle took a knee next to Sharp and the others spread out in a circle.

"Sir, these guys are dressed to kill. Russian ops waistcoats, grenades, tons of ammo, and these." Sharp held up the weapon the Russian had been using. A G36C, German made and lighter and smaller than other G36 models. The weapon only had iron sights; no doubt its handler would have needed NV to use the weapon effectively. Either way, not what was to be expected from OpFor.

"Very good Sharp. I'll radio it in to Baseplate as we move on. We're only about 10 kilometres from the first safehouse. Get the men moving, Sharp."


	6. Chapter 6

"This it?"

"I think so. Looks like a safehouse, don't it?"

"I don't know. What does a safehouse look like?"

"Well, a house. One that's secure."

"A safehouse looks like a house that's secure." Malcolm Stewart took his eye back from the scope of his M21 Sniper Weapons System and looked over at Nick Watts, who was still looking through his binoculars.

"How the fuck did you not get into Sandhurst?"

Watts shrugged, "one of those things."

"Come on," Stewart said, folding up the bipod on his rifle and slapping Watts on the back, "let's get back to the patrol."

They started slowly descending back down the hill which they had set themselves up on, picking out their comrades who were resting at the bottom. When Lieutenant Buckle saw them, he stood up and beckoned them over.

"Well?" He asked when both Stewart and Watts were at the bottom of the hill.

"Must be the safehouse sir. Only house around for miles. The city of Al-Asad is only a couple of miles away from the house, we can see smoke and high rise buildings. House looks deserted, nobody went in, nobody went out and no movement from inside the walls either sir."

Buckle nodded. "Very good. Thank you Stewart, Watts."

"Sir," both men replied. They had just sat down and opened up their boiled sweets when Buckle turned to address all the men.

"Listen up guys," he began, "the house is empty, no movement in twenty-four hours so we're going to go in. Stay ready, look for IEDs and gunmen hidden round corners. Pack up and let's go."

The patrol set off, keeping twenty to thirty metres between each soldier and moving at a fast pace. Thanks to the daylight, none of the soldiers wore NV goggles which gave them better depth perception.

"Sharp, Buckle." Sharp was thankful now that proper radio discipline had been dropped between the soldiers.

"Go ahead Buckle."

"I want you to take Delta fireteam round the back of the house, find a way in from there. I'll take Charlie. When we get about four hundred metres from the building, break into a sprint. Over."

"Roger that. Out."

The patrol kept walking at a brisk pace while Buckle radioed round and told everyone the situation. Sharp began to stake out four hundred metres. He saw a rock that was about that distance and decided to sprint when they reached it.

Charlie fireteam, led by Buckle, passed the rock and broke into a sprint. A few moments later Delta fireteam did the same. Sharp made his way to the front of the line and led the other four men of Delta fireteam round the high walls of the compound. They rounded the corner and saw only the wall, with no other way into the compound.

"Fuck!" Sharp swore as the rest of his fireteam joined him. "We've no choice. We're going over the wall. Watts, you're the base."

"Sharp." Watts ran to the wall and leant back. He put his hands on one knee, palms up and braced his whole body. Sharp went over first. He stepped back and ran at Watts. He planted his boot on Watts' hands and felt himself being lifted. His own hands grabbed the wall and he hoisted himself over. The moment he was over he dropped down and raised his weapon. Ten metres away from him was a soldier. Not an SAS soldier. Another Russian. The Russian just stared at him. He had no weapon – a G36C was lying about ten metres away. The Russian turned and bolted for the weapon.

"Contact!" Sharp shouted. He looked through the sight and fired three shots. Two ripped through the Russian's chest and the third blasted through his head, sending his brains out through his eyes. He crumpled to the floor, his hand lying on his weapon.

By now the other fireteam members were all over. The part of the compound they had landed in was obviously the garden. It seemed like the only green plot of land for miles around. A fountain shot water about fifteen feet in the air. The main house stood seventy metres away but the garden contained two summerhouses and several areas that had been secluded by trees that needed clearing.

"Start with the summerhouse in the corner. Stack up on the left. GO!"

The fireteam ran to the house and lined up to the left of the doorway, Stewart at the front. Sharp took his place behind him. He placed his left hand on Stewart's shoulder and fished around for an M67 grenade in a pouch with his right. He brought the grenade up and shoved it in Stewart's face. Stewart nodded, Sharp pulled the pin and slung it into the summerhouse. He then pulled Stewart back and waited for the explosion. When it came the shockwave staggered the fireteam slightly and the explosion sent metal fragments out through the doorframe. Sharp lifted his hand from Stewart's shoulder and Stewart barged into the room. He fired his M4 a few times and then shouted, "clear!"

He came out again, this time holding a map.

"Looks good Sarn't," he said, "reckon it's the FROG route."

"Good stuff," Sharp replied, "this'll be useful."

As Stewart stuffed it into a pocket, automatic fire peppered the summerhouse behind them.

"Fuck! Find cover!" Sharp yelled, and then dived behind a low wall. He peered up over and saw a gunman standing on a balcony on the top floor of the main house.

"Contact! Lone gunner dead ahead seventy metres!"

"Copy that!" Stewart raised his M21 and squeezed the trigger slowly. The round flew out of the barrel of the weapon and embedded itself in the wall to the left of the gunman.

"That'll put the fear of God in the bastard," Stewart smiled.

"MacMillan! Get over here!"

Alistair MacMillan, crouched behind a statue ran over to Sharp. He dived behind the low wall and looked up at Sharp.

"Yes mate?"

"Take the rest of the section to the other summerhouse, me and Stewart will try and kill this fucker."

"Consider it done Sharp. Watts, Freeman! On me!"

Nick Watts and Luke Freeman got up and followed behind MacMillan as he ran to the summerhouse.

"Stay down Stewart, your M21 is way too powerful for this Russian arse." Sharp raised his M4 and fired half a dozen rounds at the general balcony area, causing the Russian to dive to the right into cover.

Sharp ducked down behind the wall to reload and heard explosions coming from the direction of the summerhouse.

"Sharp, Buckle, talk to me Sharp."

"Good and bad sir," Sharp had to shout down the radio as Stewart had picked up a dead Russian's G36C and was emptying the magazine at the gunman, "we've cleared one summerhouse and found a map of FROG routes round the city but now two of us are pinned down and-"

Sharp cut off as heard something which he didn't want to hear at all coming from the summerhouse.

"Man down!"

"Casualty!"

_Fuck_, he thought. The radio spat at him again.

"What's going on Sharp?"

"I think I've taken a casualty sir. Wait out, I'm going to check." He turned to face Stewart, who had now slowed down his rate of fire and was waiting for the Russian to pop up again.

"Cover me mate, I'm heading for the summerhouse. Casualty call."

"Aye son," Stewart gave a quick burst on the rifle, "go!"

Sharp grabbed his weapon which was by his side, got up and sprinted to the summerhouse where he found Watts and Freeman kneeling down next to MacMillan.

"He went in before the grenade had detonated, sarn't," Freeman looked up at Sharp, tears welling in his eyes, "he didn't have a hope in fucking hell."

Sharp knelt down next to MacMillan and took in the damage. All up his body, from his waist to his forehead, was peppered with metal fragments that could only come from a grenade. Blood streamed from the metal shards in his bare skin.

"MacMillan threw the grenade, then waited a second before shoving me out the way and going in himself. He just didn't wait long enough," Freeman continued, his voice cracking, "it should be me in his place."

"No, it shouldn't Freeman," Sharp said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "shit happens, and you should be thankful it isn't you. What would your wife say? Leave him here – it's better for everyone that we don't drag him round the house as we fight. We'll sort him out when it's all clear. Now come on, Stewart's holding the fort for us. I'll meet you out there."

Watts and Freeman nodded and headed out of the summerhouse. Sharp got on the radio to Buckle.

"Buckle, it's Sharp."

"What happened, Sharp?"

"One casualty sir. Lance corporal Alistair MacMillan."

"Mac's kid? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

"I know sir." Sharp said. "How's the house clearing?"

"All done," Buckle replied, "we're out the back of the house. Meet you and the rest of your fireteam there. Out."

By now Sharp had made it to where the rest of Delta fireteam were. Stewart sat on the low wall, cradling the G36C.

"Clean headshot on balcony bastard," he smiled as he said this but his smile quickly dropped, "And I'm sorry about MacMillan as well."

"Come on," Sharp motioned to the house, "The lieutenant's waiting for us."


	7. Chapter 7

This is it, guys! The penultimate chapter! I'll post the last one a bit later on but for now enjoy this one and I'll put all my heartfelt messages in the next (and final!) installment!

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_Undisclosed MI6 safehouse, Al-Asad_

"Time, Sharp?"

"1745 hours, sir."

"Good stuff. We're fifteen minutes early. Oh well, no point in hanging around. Get these OpFor fatigues on."

The nine men swapped their Multicam for olive green trousers and black shirts, but kept their weapons and equipments. They then used shemaghs and various scrim scarves to cover their faces. Before they opened the door, Buckle turned to all of them.

"Remember, keep weapons down. If someone speaks to you in Arabic, speak to them in Russian. If someone speaks to you in Russian, answer in Arabic. And for the love of God, don't get confrontational. We can't afford to fight an entire city. I'll take point. Now come on, the second safehouse is nearby."

With that he opened the door and the squad stepped out into Al-Asad.

Sharp stepped out and stopped in his tracks. The city looked like somebody's interpretation of hell. Many buildings had been levelled by US artillery and flyovers and those that were still standing were missing roofs and whole walls. Fires burnt throughout the city, forcing the patrol to choose their route carefully so as to avoid burning cars and pools of oil that had congealed under the vehicles.

As they ran, Sharp noticed that the population in the area was predominantly militia. Civvies were few and far between, many of them had taken shelter in basements.

_I hope they get out of here before the Americans come along and level the entire city_, Sharp thought grimly.

The militia on the other hand looked as if they had no intention of taking cover at all. There were lines of OpFor soldiers thirty men long who were being handed out magazines and weapons. Some were setting up heavy machine guns and some anti-aircraft guns that looked to be twenty years old. All the while officers in berets that looked to be from different countries (Sharp had to do a double take when he saw one in a green Royal Marine beret discussing tactics with another soldier wearing the tan beret of the US Rangers) stood around and shouted what sounded like either orders or propaganda, inciting their men to 'repel the Western invader'.

Buckle motioned down an alleyway; they were turning off the main roads and heading down winding paths with tall buildings either side. They passed all sorts of horrors that made their blood run cold. A corpse lay in a gutter filled with shit and piss. His face had been chewed off by dogs who fled when Buckle's patrol ran down the alley. His left leg was just hanging onto his body by a few red strands and his right leg was completely missing.

_Possibly a robbery that went horribly wrong_, Sharp thought, _scared civilians looting while they had the opportunity._

He was wrong. Buckle put his hand up in the air in a closed fist. _Stop_. The whole patrol stopped and raised weapons, covering the entire alley ready for an ambush. Then they heard it. Screaming. Not just a single scream, but a long, drawn out cry of agonising pain. They threw themselves against the wall of a house, four people on one side of the door and five people on the other side of it. Weapons raised again, they listened out for the cries again. They were coming from inside the house they had 'stacked up' against.

"Sharp," Buckle whispered. He pointed at the windows either side of the door and motioned to Sharp to look through one.

"I'll take the other," he said.

They both peered through.

Inside the room was poorly lit. A bare lightbulb hang uselessly from the ceiling. The main illumination came from the fire on the other side of the house, which just made everything clearer. There were three Russians standing around an Arabic civilian. The Arab looked terrified; his clothes were filthy and ripped. His shoes had holes in and piss had pooled around the chair he had been tied to. One of the Russians, who Sharp assumed was the commander, took out a cigarette and lit it. He leaned over to the Arab and blew the smoke in his face. The Arab coughed and the three Russians laughed. The Arab started to cry. The Russians laughed even harder. The commander yelled something at his two men and then went over to the desk in the room. The other two Russians dragged the Arab over to the desk and slammed his right hand down onto it. All the while the man kept yelling at them in Arabic, shouting the same sentence over and over again. The Russians paid him no attention. The commander, still smoking, picked up a machete which had been leaning on the desk. He raised it above his head and slammed it on the Arab's right wrist. The blade cut clean through the wrist and the right hand flew off, leaving a bloody stump in its wake. The Arab screamed but couldn't move, the two Russians held him down firmly. They laughed as the commander took a pistol out from a holster and shot the Arab clean through the head. He flew back, crashing into the chair and sprawling in the puddle of piss. The commander pointed at the corpse and then at the door the SAS soldiers were on the other side of, all the while yelling in fast Russian.

Buckle pulled away from the window and grabbed Sharp's shoulder.

"When that Russian bastard opens the door, I want Watts on point with the shotgun. He blasts the fucker in the face and then steps back. At this point get someone to stand in the doorway and fire inside, everyone else fires through these windows. No time to check if everyone died; we have to keep moving. Clear?"

Sharp nodded and relayed the order down the line.

"Watts!" Buckle said, "grab your shotgun and get to the door!"

Watts smiled and pulled out his Remington 870 shotgun. He stood in the front of the door and waited. The door swung open and there stood a Russian with the dead Arab in his hands. The Russian stared dumbly at Watts, who smiled and blasted the shotgun full in the Russian's face. The Arab fell to the floor and the Russian was knocked ten metres back into the room. Watts immediately stepped back and Sharp took his position in the door. He levelled his M4 at the Russian commander, who had dropped the cigarette from his mouth and was running for his weapon. Sharp fired at the same time the six other guys opened fire – Watts was now watching the alleyway.

The 5.56mm rounds smashed the glass and tore through the soft parts of the Russians, ruining the face, hands and legs. Wherever they found a plate of body armour they buried through and lodged themselves in the chest and stomach. The two Russians were dead before they hit the floor.

"Bug out!" Sharp gave the call. Buckle turned and ran, closely followed by the rest of the patrol. They kept on running, heading down alleyways, side streets and just running across main roads, dodging other OpFor patrols and keeping their heads down. After five more minutes of running, Buckle finally put a closed fist up in the air and the patrol flattened against the nearest wall, covering all other angles. He then pointed at a building across the street from them.

"Safehouse number two fellas!" He shouted out, "Sharp, when we get there I want Delta fireteam on point – you guys are to sweep bottom floor. I'll take Charlie upstairs and clear the top floor. Intel reports there are only two floors; no basement and no attic. There's also no garden, so we clear the two floors, check for intel and leave. Clear?"

Sharp turned and looked at Watts.

"You'll need your shotgun again." He said. Watts patted it.

"Ready and waiting, sarn't."

"Go!" Buckle yelled. Sharp immediately went first and ran across the street followed by the rest of Delta fireteam and then Charlie fireteam behind. About halfway across the street Watts sprinted in front of Sharp and took the lead. He ran at the door and planted his foot on it, knocking it off its hinges and sending it to the ground. He then raised his shotgun and fired at the surprised Russian in front on him. The Russian fell back, ball bearings pock-marking his face and torso. The rest of Delta fireteam ran in behind Watts and started to fan out, keeping their weapons high and watching all corners. Sharp stood in front of them and raised his hand above his head. _Single file._ The guys silently got into position behind him as Charlie fireteam ran into the house and headed up the stairs.

Delta started pushing forward into the house, keeping eyes and ears open. At the end of a short corridor was another door. Sharp motioned for the team to 'stack up' on one side of the door, which they did. Sharp then pulled a flashbang from his waistcoat, activated and threw it inside the dark room. He waited for a few seconds, then heard the reassuring bang and saw the flash of light from under the door frame. He threw the door open and put his left foot inside. His left foot found no floor to land on and Sharp collapsed as he rolled down a flight of stairs.

Groaning, he opened his eyes and saw two OpFor soldiers shaking their heads, recovering from the flashbang. One of them quickly clocked Sharp rolling around on the floor and bolted for his AK-47. He picked it up, cocked it and aimed it at Sharp's head. Sharp closed his eyes.

_Fuck. I'm not meant to die at the barrel of a gun_, he thought, waiting for the inevitable.

He heard two gunshots and then felt a splash of something fall on his face.

_Is that it? Am I dead? Well, I've felt worse_. Sharp opened his eyes. He looked around and saw both OpFor soldiers lying dead on the ground, each with a round between their eyes. Standing over him was Luke Freeman, M4 still smoking and looking proud with himself.

"Quality shooting, ain't that right, sarn't?" Freeman beamed and held out his hand. Sharp took it and Freeman pulled him up. Watts and Stewart were also in the basement and had had a look round but come up empty handed.

"Nothing, Sharp," Stewart spat onto the ground, "It looks like they had to leave in a hurry. There's a lot of ashes around and they're mildly warm. They must have bugged out 12 hours, max."

Sharp frowned. "I'll let Buckle know," he said, and pulled out his radio.

"Sir? It's Sharp here."

"Go ahead Sharp."

"We've had a dig round and turned up some warm ashes, sir. Recent. They've been here sir."

"Excellent, we're getting close. We're going to have to forgo that status report on the city – Six have detected movement round the Frog site and want us to get there as soon as we can. The Americans will have to invade the city unprepared. Oh, and we've found some keys to some vehicles. Let's go – we have less than twenty four hours to destroy the FROGS."


	8. Chapter 8

_FROG-7 site, outside Al-Asad, during the American invasion of the city._

The two Jeeps sped along the dirt track, their engines constantly whining at a high pitch as they took the dunes in their stride. The occupants inside could feel their teeth rattling in their heads – suspension on twenty-year old vehicles does not get better with time, they would readily confirm that.

The Jeeps were brought to a sudden halt by the drivers on a ridge overlooking the FROGs. The engines were switched off and the nine men disembarked. They lay down on their belt buckles and crawled up to the edge of the ridge and scanned the area below them. Both Sharp and Lieutenant Buckle pulled out binoculars.

Sharp looked around the vehicles, parked and facing Al-Asad. Nobody seemed to be down there. No guards, nobody operating the launchers, and still a fair amount of lying around.

"Sir, can you see anybody down there?"

"No, Sharp, I see bugger all. Say we should go in for a closer look?"

"That I do sir."

"Good stuff. Let's go then."

The men got up and split into two lines, parallel to each other. They headed in single file, the two lines next to each other down the ridge to the FROGs. When they got there, the two lines split up and searched the entire valley, checking all corners, cabins of the vehicles, even the crates that the ammunition came in. Then the order came over the headset of each soldier.

"Patrol, close in! Middle of the valley, go!"

All nine men in to the middle and took a knee, one eye on Buckle and the other on the area, looking out for an ambush.

"Something's not right here," Buckle began, "perfectly good FROGs and not a damn person to operate them or even guard them. Check these missiles – make sure they're genuine and not fakes in an attempt to throw us off-guard. Active missiles will have a red tip – dummy ones are generally light blue."

The eight men got up and went to check a FROG machine each, while Buckle waited in the middle. Sharp walked over to one and climbed up onto the actual launch device. Looking at the missile, the actual warhead had a light blue tip, as well as various 'training missile' messages in English along the body.

_Fuck, it's not real_.

"Training missile here!" He yelled out, jumping down from the FROG.

"Same here!"

"Training one here as well!" One by one, seven of the eight soldiers announced their missile was either a dummy or a training missile – either way, tactically useless. All except one.

"Uh, sir? Can you get over here fucking quick please?" Nick Watts called out from the furthest FROG machine.

All eight men doubled over to the vehicle where Watts stood pointing at the blood-red tip of the missile.

"One real missile in a bunch of fakes?" Buckle scratched his head. "Why?"

"What does it say on the side, Watts?" Freeman said.

"Uh… hang on." Watts moved further down the body of the missile. "Uhh… W80, USAF AGM-86 ALCM. What does that mean?"

"USAF… United States Air Force," Buckle began, "AGM is Armed Guided Missile and ALCM is Air-Launched Cruise Missile. W80 is the name of the warhead, what that means, I don't know. I'll radio Baseplate – they'll want to know we've recovered a US missile. Everyone else, tactical positions on the ridge facing out. Stewart, I want the M21 facing away from the city."

Sharp and the other seven men sprinted up the hill as Buckle dialled up his satellite phone, connecting instantly to Whitehall.

"Ops Room, Whitehall, who's speaking?" The prim and proper tone of the female secretary in London seemed very out of place in the Middle East.

"Lieutenant Buckle, I want to speak to Colonel MacMillan please."

"Let me just get him for you, sir."

Buckle stamped his foot impatiently as he waited for what seemed like an age for MacMillan to pick up.

"You'd better have a damn good reason to call me Buckle," MacMillan spat down the phone.

"I do sir," Buckle calmly replied, "A US warhead, W-80 printed on the side, looks like a Cruise missile, found at the FROG sites."

"Bollocks." MacMillan's voice went suddenly quiet.

"Sir? Talk to me sir? What's wrong?"

"Shit. Shit shit shit SHIT!" Mac yelled down the phone, then to someone not on the phone. "Summon General Shepherd – tell him to pull his troops out, NOW!"

Mac then turned back to Buckle on the phone.

"You've just found a nuclear bomb, James. 80 kilotons. Went missing from American supplies a few months ago. Been a big job keeping it quiet but now we've found it, it seems. Leave now, get the fuck out of there! I have no idea when that thing will blast, but it could be very soon if they realise that the Americans are retreating! Go! GO!"

The line went dead. Buckle immediately snapped into action and ran up the hill to Sharp. He threw himself down next to him. Sharp looked at him in a confused way.

"It's a fucking nuke," Buckle panted. "We found a bollocking nuke. We have to leave, and-"

"Sir!" Stewart's voice came over Buckle's headset, "I think I have an ID on Horseman number 1!" Buckle got up and sprinted round to Stewart and pulled out his binoculars. At safehouse number 3, Vladimir Makarov was standing talking to another soldier.

"I don't recognize the guy he's with…" Buckle murmured. He traced where both men were looking and realized they were watching the American helicopters flying out of Al-Asad. Buckle's heart started to race.

"They're watching the American retreat!" Buckle shouted, "Stewart, I need you to shoot and kill Makarov or else he will detonate a nuke and kill us all!"

"You don't need to tell me twice!" Stewart shouted. He began to dope the scope and focus on Makarov, but just as he did he saw Makarov raise something to his mouth.

"Too late," Buckle whispered, "too fucking late."

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Thank you so much for reading and following the story! I know I wasn't particularly regular with the updates but I'm glad I managed to finish it and I hope you're glad I did as well. Please leave reviews and feedback, I read it all and take it on board and now it's just a matter of finding the right subject material for my next story! Watch this space!


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